Reciprocity
by Billy4Me
Summary: Sara has a chance meeting with someone from her past, and the consequences are far-reaching. GS


**A/N: **This is for you, Marlou. Hope it's everything you wanted. 

**Spoilers: **"Bloodlines"

**Disclaimer: **The opinions of the characters herein do not necessarily reflect my own. I don't own _SI_ or Rick Reilly or college football or… well, darn near anything mentioned in this story. Oh, yeah, and I don't own _CSI:_, blah, blah, blah. Now on to something you _don't_ know. 

I will also say that I realize there is some incorrect grammar in this story. It is intentional. Read on and, hopefully, you'll see why.

**Reciprocity**

I killed my first man back in late October. Well, more of a boy, really. He was only nineteen. Rap sheet long as your arm. Arrick Baines. Gang banger, drug dealer, general menace to society. I guess I should be proud that I was the one that took him down, but I'm not.

That night was crazy. My partner Jake and I had already busted up a couple domestic disputes and a bar fight by the time shift was half over. So when dispatch sent us to take a statement from some old codger who got mugged, it was pretty much a relief. Jake was talking about what his little girl was going to be for Halloween, and we were still two blocks away from the old man when the radio crackled. And, before I had the chance to think about it, Jake had our cruiser in with a line of others in hot pursuit of some teenaged punk with too much ammo and too little sense.

Baines finally ran off the road when Robinson shot out one of his back tires, and we thought it was all over. Well, we hoped it was anyway. Hoped that this stupid kid would just open the door and lay down on the ground and let us cuff him and spend some time in jail and then get out and be a model citizen. That's what you always hope for. You know it never happens, but you hope for it anyway. Hell, that's what got me into this job. That crazy belief that I could help turn some kid's life around. Well, that, and I wanted to be sure my boys would be safe. And proud. Proud of Daddy.

I think all those thoughts ran through my head in the five seconds before Arrick Baines flew out of that souped-up Honda with guns blazing. And then I didn't think anything else because it was war, and I was just shooting. Me and everybody else. I shot twice at the stupid kid with the nappy dreads, and then I heard Cap yelling. And you always stop when Cap yells. So I did.

It took a couple of weeks to piece together exactly what happened but, when the dust cleared, turns out I fired the fatal shot. Good. He couldn't sell drugs to kids anymore. Couldn't shoot cops anymore. Couldn't make his mama cry anymore. Couldn't sport that goofy Rasta 'do anymore. That was a good thing. And every time I thought about Arrick Baines, I kept telling myself that.

I thought I was doing fine. Turned down Cap's suggestion that I go talk to one of those shrinks. He was real funny about it, too. Called me in his office, sat me down, talked to me in this real serious voice. "Reggie, you think it doesn't affect you, but it does. You should really talk to someone about it." I blew him off. Whatever.

But then 'Nette started bugging me about going, saying I was acting different. I figured it was just her being her. She'd been on me a lot around then, even before the shooting happened, saying I never talked to her anymore, I was always distant. I'd just roll my eyes. Chicks. All they ever want to do is talk, get closer, open up. Sheesh. I don't do that. We'd been married for seven years and together for three more before that, so she knew that about me, knew I was a less-talk-and-more-action kind of guy.

She wasn't exactly a bed of roses herself. Half the time it was, "I've got a headache, Reggie." Yeah? Well, I've got needs, too, 'Nette. But she wasn't hearing that. We'd both been thinking about divorce, even talked about it a few times in the heat of some fight. So I didn't really put a whole lot of stock in this crap about me acting different.

But then, I blew up at Rashawn about the peas. Poor kid was only three; who could blame him for not wanting to eat his peas? But I was mad. Blazing mad. So I threw his little plastic cup across the room so hard that it cracked. And both the kids were screaming, and Annette was crying and, when I looked down, she was huddled with the two of them behind her while she tried to protect them. From me. And I knew I had to do something.

So here I sit flipping through a month-old issue of _Sports Illustrated _while I wait for Jack. I guess he's a decent counselor, but I don't really have anything to compare him to. I always have to wait on him because my appointment's at 11, and I get off work at 10. So I have to hang out somewhere for an hour, and this is as good a place as any. At least they have _SI_, even if it's old.

I'm halfway through Rick Reilly's column about how college football needs a playoff system – yeah, Rick, tell me something I _don't_ know – when this tall, skinny girl walks in. I glance up and do a double-take because she looks kind of familiar.

I just stare at her for a minute, trying to figure out where I know her from, and she must feel it because she looks over at me. She doesn't seem mad or anything, but she watches me for a second, and it's obvious she recognizes me right away.

The receptionist smiles and calls her Miss Sidle. Oh, yeah, that's where I've seen her. I picked her up for DUI a while back. She's one of the nerd squad. Normally, we all make fun of those guys, but we're kind of like a family. It's OK for us to make fun of each other, but we stick together when things get tough. An arrest would've caused her major problems at work – maybe even gotten her fired. It was her first offense, and she was just barely over the limit anyway, so I cut her a break. Just drove her back to the station and called her supervisor so he could deal with it. What's her first name again? Sharon? Sandra? Sherry?

She sits down in one of the cheap plastic chairs across the room, flipping through some papers the receptionist just gave her. I toss my _SI_ down on the table – Reilly was same old, same old anyway – and walk over and plop down in the seat across from her. "Hey."

She looks up at me, and it's hard to tell if she's more surprised that I talked to her or that I walked over here to do it. It's obvious she doesn't know me well because I'll talk to anybody at anytime about anything. Well, maybe not anybody. I'm not doing such a great job with my wife lately, but that's different. This is easy. A people person, my mom always called me. Finally, Sidle says, "Hello, Officer Coakley."

OK, that was formal. I guess she does remember me. So now I'm curious. I figure she's probably in counseling because of the DUI, but it's none of my business. What do I care? I'm glad she's getting help for whatever she has to deal with. No, I'd really just like to make sure she's OK. It'd be nice to know that I helped somebody. God knows I didn't help Arrick Baines. I clear my throat and try to grin and not think about the kid with the dreadlocks. "It's Reggie. What's your name again?"

She relaxes a little bit, and it makes me happy to see that I've put her at ease. "Sara."

That's it! I just nod my head at her like a jackass, and then I laugh. "Thank you! That was driving me crazy!"

She looks at me like I'm nuts, so I try to explain, "I was thinking Sandra, but I knew that didn't sound right."

That got me a smile. Score one for making an idiot out of myself. But it was worth it because she's not half bad to look at when she's smiling. There's a gap between her front teeth, but it's OK because it just makes her look more real. But she also looks sort of scared, like I'm going to ask her some question she doesn't want to answer. And I want to keep this little chat going because I'm bored and Rick Reilly's not holding my attention.

'Nette's always said I'm good at making people feel comfortable. It's easy. If they don't want to talk about themselves, I just talk about me until they do. Tell some embarrassing story or something, make 'em laugh. Hey, it works. Most people can't keep their mouths shut for long. When all else fails, go with the old stand-by. "So have you met Jack? First time I saw that guy, I thought he was gonna make me stand on my head in my underwear or something. Sad part is, he almost did."

She smiles and seems a little less scared, and I grin at her. She looks curious, so I go on. "Yeah, he has this 'technique.'" I use my fingers to quote that. "You sit on a plastic mat on the floor and play with Play-Doh and tell him anything you want. Some kind of shrink icebreaker, I think. I made a snowman."

She laughs out loud at that, and I know I've done something right. She's got a nice laugh – real, honest. I smile back and keep going. "I guess he thinks it's hard to keep up a front when your hands are buried in Play-Doh, but I just felt like I was getting counseling from my kid. Only reason I stayed when he pulled that stuff out was because my wife woulda killed me if I left. She's all about that chick stuff like talking."

But, see, here's where it gets serious. Thinking about Annette and all our issues ain't funny. I don't want her to leave, but she wants more from me than I got to give. I wonder if 'Nette would be mad that I'm talking to Sara. Probably, but I don't really care. "What is it with women? All y'all ever want to do is talk." I smile when I say it, but I mean every word, and I think she knows it, too.

She doesn't take offense, though, and I'm glad. Instead, she laughs and says, "Hey, buddy, that's not just limited to women." It's a good thing to say 'cause it breaks the tension. But it really makes me curious about what kind of no-action guys are in her life.

The receptionist calls her then, and she gathers up all the forms to head over to the front desk. After she's got them all organized in her left hand, she holds out her right for me to shake, so I do. And she tells me, "Talking is not the only thing we want, but it's where you have to start if you expect more than that. It was nice to meet you, Reggie."

"You, too," I tell her, but she's already walking away. It bugs me that I never even found out anything about her.

XXXXXXXXX

I thought about what Sara told me all the way home. And that's funny because I can't remember the first thing Jack said that day. When I walked into the house, Rashawn was down for his nap, and Annette asked me if I wanted to eat lunch in the living room so I could watch the ball game I taped last night. But I didn't want to. I wanted to try out Sara's advice.

So I said, "No, I want to eat with you." Boy, was she shocked. But she looked happy, and I hadn't seen 'Nette look happy in a long time. I didn't get any action that night, but I did get some later in the week, and it didn't seem like she was doing some kind of chore. She was into it, for the first time in forever. Man, who needs Jack? I need to find Sara. Maybe she can give me some more pointers.

So here I sit in the waiting room again, and I hope she'll be here. Reilly's even more boring this time with his rambling on about how college athletes shouldn't be paid because their payment is their education. Whatever, Rick. I played a little football at WLVU before I busted up my knee in my sophomore year. The school makes big bucks off the athletes; it's not asking that much for them to funnel a few down to the guys that make it happen.

I'm just about to throw the magazine across the room when Sara comes in. I wave at her, and she comes to sit near me after she signs in. Sweet. The wait's a whole lot less boring when you've got somebody to talk to.

"Hey," she says as she's putting her sunglasses away. "We meet again."

"Yeah," I tell her. "I can't stay away from this place."

She grins. "And how has your week been?"

"Great. Tried out your advice." I can't wait to see her reaction to that.

"My advice?"

She looks a little confused, so I decide to help her out. "Yeah, you told me that talking is where women like to start." She smiles then, so I add, "I don't even remember what we talked about, but the aftermath was all good." I even do a little eyebrow wiggle, just for effect.

I was shooting for laughter; what I got instead was a look that could kill. What did I do wrong? That was supposed to be funny.

She snaps, "I didn't tell you that so you could use her."

Huh? Use who? See, this is what I don't get about women. I look at her like she's lost her mind. I'm trying to give her a compliment, and she jumps all over me. Is this some funky hormone thing? Lord knows I have a hard time being around Annette at that time of the month.

Sara just stares at me for a while, and then her face kind of relaxes a little bit. She sighs and then says under her breath, "God, I thought Grissom was the only one this clueless." And that just makes me look at her even funnier. Who the heck is Grissom?

She shakes her head and says, "Reggie, I didn't tell you that so _you_ could get laid. I said you should talk to her because that's what _she_ needs. Your love and your attention. She needs to know you care enough to talk to her. Physical intimacy flows naturally out of a relationship built on emotional intimacy."

Uh-oh, now she's using chick-speak. Emotional intimacy? All-righty, then. Danger, Will Robinson! Change subject! Fast! "Who's Grissom?"

That shuts her up. She turns so white I wonder for a second if she's gonna keel over. But she doesn't, just answers in this real calm – almost _too_ calm – voice. "He's my boss."

Ah, the plot thickens. "Is this the same guy I called for you?" I don't spell it out any more than that; she knows I'm talking about the DUI that wasn't, and she nods to answer my question. I remember him – vaguely. About my height, kinda pudgy, beard, late 40s maybe? What sticks out in my mind the most, though, was his voice over the phone after I told him about Sara, the concern when he asked if she was all right. And it makes me wonder if there's something going on between the two of them.

I watch her a little closer, and she kind of wiggles in her seat and looks… I don't know, angry? Or maybe embarrassed. Oh, yeah, definitely more there than meets the eye. But just as I open my mouth to ask about it, the receptionist calls her. Sara just about jumps out of her seat in her hurry to get away from me and whatever I was gonna ask, and I almost curse but manage to catch myself in time. I've been trying to watch my language lately – it's better for the boys if Daddy doesn't have a sailor's mouth. She just smiles at me and says, "Remember what I said. See you next week?"

What can I say to that? "Sure," is what I answer, and I give her a half-smile when she waves. I wonder if I can get the low-down on Grissom before next week. Surely, I can. After all, I'm a cop. It's not like I don't have connections.

XXXXXXXXX

My chats with Sara are definitely becoming the most valuable part of my counseling sessions because, for the second week in a row, I can barely even remember talking to Jack. Maybe I should hire Sara as my counselor. The girl is gold, I tell ya. Pure gold. I haven't dreamt about Arrick Baines in over a week, and I even managed to make some progress with 'Nette.

We had dinner on Tuesday, just me and her. It was my night off, and she got dressed up in that tight black skirt of hers, and I wore a tie. We took the boys to her mother's and went out to a steakhouse. Nothing fancy, but it was a big deal because we haven't been on a "date" like that since college. And we just talked. It started off real awkward at first, like neither one of us knew what to say. But then she brought up our first date at that stupid Valentine's Day dinner at the Zeta house back at WLVU and how she spilled fettucine Alfredo on my new suit. And we just talked about memories like that for hours. And it was fun. Well, at least until the waiter came and told us they were closing, and we looked around and realized we were the last ones left in the joint.

Yeah, I got me some lovin' that night, but it was different this time 'cause the best part was feeling her snuggle up to me afterwards. I've always hated that because I need my space when I sleep. Only this time I didn't. Weird.

I guess that's progress. I figure Sara will think so anyway. At least, I hope she will. But I'm more interested in asking her about this cat Grissom. I stopped by the crime lab a couple nights ago to see an old friend of mine. She's a huge sports fan, and we have seats together at WLVU basketball games. But our schedules have been off this season, and we haven't caught up with each other lately. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone because, besides being a good friend, she's also a well-known gossip queen. And she was more than happy to tell all she knew. With all due respect to Garth Brooks, it really is good to have friends in low places.

So here I am yet again. Reilly's moved on to hoops and is busy ranting about the upcoming UNC-Duke game. I hate the ACC. Too much hype. Yeah, he's even more boring than usual. Needless to say, I'm pretty happy when Sara plops down beside me. "Hey. Did you follow my advice this week?"

I grin. In some ways, she's different from a lot of women, but she's definitely got the same nagging mentality that the rest of 'em do. She's a little cooler about it than some, though. And, hey, you can't argue with success, so I just shrug and tell her, "Maybe."

She flashes me a huge smile. "Reggie, you sly dog. You really talked to her, didn't you?"

"Yeah." I just smile, partly because I don't do girl talk and partly because I'm in the mood to discuss other things. I pause a second for effect and then drop the bomb. "I talked to a lot of people this week."

Her smile fades just a little bit, but the curiosity is definitely killing her. I wait for a minute and, finally, she asks, "Really? Like who?"

Hook, line, and sinker. It's almost funny how easy that was. "I've got an old friend who works over at the crime lab. Maybe you know her? Jacqui Franco?"

She gulps, and it's all I can do not to laugh. Apparently, Jacqui's reputation is well-deserved. This is too good not to push it, so I say, "Yeah, I got the scoop on your boss. Grissom, is it?" When she nods slowly, I look away to hide my grin as I tell her, "I hear you two are kind of a hot item around the crime lab." I shake my head and say in a serious voice, "Never figured you for the type to get it on with the boss, Sara. Then again, I thought he seemed pretty worried about you when I talked to him that night."

"Well, you thought wrong."

Uh-oh, that wasn't the reaction I was shooting for. When I look back at her, she's gathering up her stuff and, boy, is she pissed. I am such an idiot. But, geez, all I wanted to do was tease her a little. Jacqui told me she had it bad for the guy and that he had it bad for her and that they had never gotten together. She also told me that the lab rumor was that Sara made no bones about her feelings for him but that he wouldn't do anything about it. Yeah, OK, so I'm man enough to admit it. That was obviously not a cool subject to joke about. "C'mon, Sara, I'm sorry. I was just kidding, OK?"

"No, it's not OK," she says, and I know I'm not getting off that easy. Finally, she stands up and looks at me and, for just a minute, I'm almost scared. She is really ticked off. But, just like last time, her voice is super calm when she tells me, "Reggie, if you ever make your wife as mad as you've made me, I suggest lots of groveling and a _huge_ bouquet of roses." And, as she stalks over to the receptionist's desk, she kind of mumbles over her shoulder, "And that's just for starters."

Well, that sucked. Way to go, Reg.

XXXXXXXXX

I went to three more sessions with Jack, read three more boring Reilly articles, and even brought three different bouquets of roses with me, but I didn't see Sara in the waiting room. Dang, I screwed up bad. And I had no idea how to fix it.

So, finally, I told 'Nette about Sara this week. Well, what else was I supposed to do? I needed advice. It's pretty obvious that I don't know the first thing about women, so why shouldn't I ask a woman for help? Yeah, big mistake. 'Cause Annette thought I was cheating on her. Which brings me to the question: Is there something wrong with my English that I just cannot communicate with a woman? I almost won myself a spot on the couch that night. Until I remembered Sara's advice, that is. So I bought two dozen roses and sat down and calmly explained to Annette who Sara was and what I had done. And then she was mad at me for a different reason. I just can't win.

But, finally, after I cooked her dinner and ran her a hot bubble bath, she agreed to help me. "Not for you, Reggie," she said. "I'm doing this for Sara. Partially because she helped you get your head out of your butt and partially because she didn't deserve your stupid jokes." Then she smiled this real happy smile and kissed me and said, "But mostly because every woman deserves to be with the man of her dreams." I rolled my eyes at how sappy that was, but I put my arms around her anyway.

And that's how I came to be standing at this crime scene with Jake. I'm not sure exactly how 'Nette worked this out, but I'm sure she's behind it somehow. Detective Vega is interviewing a witness, and Sara and her boss have just rolled up. I look at him pretty closely, trying to figure out what she sees in the guy. He looks middle-aged and bow-legged and really just kind of dorky to me.

They've each got their nerd kits, and he holds up the crime scene tape for her when they get there. And that's when I see it. The little look he gives her and the hand he puts on her back to help her pass by. And she turns around and smiles a little before she wanders over to Vega. And he watches her go for just a little longer than he should, with this dazed and goofy look on his face. Then he sighs and walks over to the body. And I know that everything Jacqui told me was true, so I put the plan in motion.

Jake's a talkative guy. I've just gotta get him talking on the right subject. And in the right spot. Grissom's too far away. So I say, "Hey, let's move over that way some," and point to a place a little closer to our middle-aged nerd.

Jake looks at me funny. "Why?" he wants to know. You know, I wish my partner, for once, would just do what I tell him without asking stupid questions.

"Because, jerk-off," I say, and he can tell I'm irritated. "We're here to protect the nerds and the scene, and they're both that way."

He just shrugs and follows me and, once I'm close enough for Grissom to hear, I look over at Sara and ask Jake, "Man, did you see that hot chick? The one on the nerd squad?" I don't look down, but I can see the old guy glance up at me out of the corner of my eye.

Jake turns around to see what I'm staring at and then turns back to me. He grins and wiggles his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah. She's a looker, ain't she?" And the way he says it makes me want to punch him, but I have to play along.

"Yeah," I agree. And, even though Grissom has looked back down at the body, I can tell he's listening by the way his shoulders look stiff. "If I had that at home, I'd never leave the house."

Jake laughs. "Geez, Coakley, your wife ain't bad herself."

He's trying so hard not to but, when I don't respond right away, Grissom looks up. Directly at me, and I meet his stare. He's ticked off, but I don't care. He needs to hear this. So I just watch him as I say, "If I had a woman like her, I would know that she was worth every risk it ever took to be with her, worth every hurt she might give me, worth everything I had to give. And I'd know that she'd hurt me and I'd hurt her but, together, we could work it out. Because life _with_ her would be better than anything life without her had to offer."

Jake's staring at me like I'm a lunatic, and Grissom just looks away. But not before I see that I've gotten to him. I can't believe I just said all of that. I may not be able to communicate with a woman, but I can dang sure make a guy understand me. And I watch his hands shake as he tries to pull a fiber off the body with tweezers. Man to man, dude, take the chance. Just do it.

XXXXXXXXX

I go to counseling for a few more sessions, but I don't meet up with Sara anymore. I told 'Nette the whole story, and she said I did good. I'm not so sure. I mean, I watched the two of them get back in their truck that night and drive away. And he looked at her with this goofy face, but he did that before, too. I just want those two to hook up but, hell, I'm no matchmaker. Men don't do that girly stuff. So why does it bug me so much?

Annette and I have been doing better and better. I stopped going to see Jack several months ago, and the two of us started going to marriage counseling. It didn't last too long, but it helped us work through some of our problems. I figure, we can work through the rest on our own. Arrick Baines and my distance and her headaches. We talk about those things sometimes. And sometimes we don't talk at all. And sometimes she just lays her head on my chest before we go to sleep at night. That works for us.

We have "date night" once a week now, but our anniversary is a bigger deal. So tonight I've decided to take her to this tiny Italian joint on the north side of town. Carducci's is just a little mom-and-pop place, but it's quiet, and the food is great. I've got this craving for fettucine Alfredo.

We're halfway through dinner when there's a commotion on the far side of the room. Mama Carducci has her apron in her hands, and 'Nette and I both look where she's staring. And I get the shock of my life. Grissom is facing me, but he's down on one knee. And he's got this worried smile on his face as he holds a tiny box out to a woman. And, even though her back is to me, I'd know her anywhere.

"Sara," I say, and 'Nette jerks her head around to look at me. So I point to them with my head and add, "With Grissom." And that seems to satisfy her, because then we both turn back to watch the rest of the drama unfold.

Sara throws her arms around him after a second, and he hugs her back with this obvious look of relief. I recognize that look. I had it myself a little over eight years ago. I reach for Annette's hand and squeeze it as I bring it to my lips. She smiles and asks, "What are you thinking about?"

I just shake my head, because I'm thinking about weird stuff like fettucine on my best suit and criminals with bad hair and miscommunication between men and women and how they all led us to this moment. And, as I watch two people kissing in their own universe, I know that, even if I couldn't help Arrick Baines, I'm glad that I helped someone far more deserving, and I'm glad that she helped me. And all I can think to say is, "Reciprocity."


End file.
